


Sunday Morning

by beeyouteaful



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeyouteaful/pseuds/beeyouteaful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lazy Sunday morning with Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

I watched him from the far arm of the sofa while he read the Sunday paper. I always made fun of him for being so old fashioned—sometimes, I even called him Grandpa—and he would laugh…and then go back to reading whatever article it was that caught his attention. It was little moments like these that made me really appreciate him the most. Sure, when he was in costume for a role, he was always charming, or when we were in the bedroom, he could be devilishly suave. But, when it really came down to it all, my favorite times with him were ones like this: the two of us in our pajamas, sipping on coffee and tea, me, perched in my usual spot on the sofa arm, and him, reading his newspaper.

The way his fingers twitched before he turned the pages, and the way his tongue slowly peeped out to wet his thin lips as he concentrated on the text mesmerized me like nothing else, but the thing I loved the most about our Sunday morning ritual was the thick, grey pair of eyeglass frames on Tom's face. This was the epitome of intimacy to me. He never wore his glasses outside the house, save for a few times. His face was perfect for them; they accentuated his chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones. From the side, his profile was never short of perfection when he was immersed in the week's news stories. I could see his glasses slide down his nose ever so slowly as he looked down at the paper.

But, the front view... That was my favorite.

"Babe?" I asked, trying to get him to look at me.

"Hm?" he countered, not looking up.

"Want more tea?" Tom eyed the empty mug waiting on the coffee table.

"I think I might." That's when he turned his stunning face and smiled, his eyes squinting beneath the frames. He looked up at me through his lashes, the lenses not inhibiting the deep cerulean of his irises from sparkling in the light. I found myself breathless as he used his forefinger and thumb to push the glasses back into position on the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, love."

"Mhm." I unfolded my crossed legs and walked into the kitchen, making sure to sway my hips a little bit so he got a good show. The tea kettle was still hot, so making the second cup of Earl Grey was simple enough and didn't take long.

"Thanks," he said as I folded myself into the seat next to him. I wrapped my hands around my mug of coffee and leaned into his side. He was looking at the comics page. I read along with him, chuckling at _Garfield_. I could feel him watching me through his lenses, but I didn't look up because I knew he was probably admiring me as much as I'd been admiring him earlier.

"You know something?" I asked.

"I know a lot of things," he retorted. I glanced up at his grinning face, and again, he had me under his spell with those glasses.

"I love you." I kissed his nose. "Sundays with you are my favorite days."

"And why's that?"

"I get to spend quiet time with you. It's nice to watch you relax after months of filming." He smiled back at me and pecked my cheek. I propped my elbow up on the back of the sofa. "You're a simple man. It's refreshing."

"And what? Every other man is complicated?" I just smiled. He laughed breathily and turned back to his paper. "You're so lovely."

"Thank you." I blushed at his compliment.

"No need to thank me, darling." He grinned and folded the newspaper back into its original shape, placing it on the coffee table. "I love you. I can't even begin to describe it in words! You're just so breathtakingly sincere," he said. I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in his after-sleep scent.

“You smell so good in the morning,” I mumbled, nuzzling my nose and cheek into his chest. He bent his neck to kiss my hair. My head moved with his soothing breaths, and I watched the steam from our cups dance in the air. Everything was quiet, and we didn’t talk much. But it didn’t matter. When I was with him, we didn’t need words.

“You know something?” he asked after a while. I smiled, still watching the steam curl.

“I know a lot of things, Gramps." His chuckle vibrated deep through his chest and tickled my ear. He removed his glasses and set them on top of the newspaper.

“I think Sundays with you are my favorite days, too.”


End file.
